The dream began in fire.
Aria stood alone in the ruins of a temple, her red hair whipping in an unnatural wind. The moon above burned red, its glow touching the stone with blood. Around her, voices whispered in forgotten tongues. One name kept repeating: "Lunaria... Lunaria..."
She opened her eyes with a gasp. It was the third time she'd dreamed of that name.
Dawn had not yet broken. The others were asleep. Kael's arm rested across her waist, anchoring her to the present. But even his warmth couldn't erase the weight in her chest.
She slipped from their bed quietly and stepped outside the camp.
There, waiting for her in silence, stood the fire guardian—Varyn.
He nodded as if expecting her. "It is time."
"For the trial?"
"For you to remember."
He led her into the Whispering Valley, where an ancient flame pulsed at the heart of the mountain. There, he placed his hand on her forehead and whispered an incantation.
Flames swallowed her.
She was no longer Aria Vale. She was Lunaria—Princess of the Moonborne, born to lead the bloodlines of both wolf and flame.
Her memories flooded in: her father's true identity, the sister she'd lost, and the betrayal that shattered the original blood pact. She saw visions of her father, roaring in battle, shielding her as a child, handing her a red pendant glowing faintly with moonlight.
Her knees buckled. Varyn caught her.
"You are the last," he said. "The fire chose you because you burned and survived."
"Why now?" she whispered.
"Because the blood moon approaches again. And the veil between what was and what is has begun to tear."
When she returned to camp, Aria's eyes gleamed like live embers. Her skin shimmered faintly. Everyone could feel it—something had changed.
Kael sensed it immediately. "What happened to you?"
"I remembered who I am."
Before she could say more, Raekon appeared, bloodied and panting.
"We're under attack."
---
The assault was sudden. Wyrmkin poured in from the cliffs, their scaled bodies immune to most weapons. Aria's new magic, however, seared through them like a blade through parchment. Her flames danced like sentient beings, answering her emotions.
Kael fought beside her, a blur of teeth and fury. Nyla and Darius held the flank, Lyra the rogue assassin vanished and reappeared in shadows, taking down foes with surgical precision.
Yet amidst the chaos, something felt off.
Raekon was gone.
Then they found him—bound, gagged, and shoved into a cage deep in the Wyrmkin hold. The one they'd been traveling with? An imposter.
Too late.
The imposter—posing as Raekon—stabbed Darius through the chest with a poisoned blade and vanished into the night, leaving only laughter behind.
---
Darius bled out in Aria's arms. "Don't stop fighting, Red," he whispered. "Your father would be proud."
He died with a smile, the red pendant clutched in his hand. She took it and placed it around her neck.
Aria stood. Something inside her broke—but something else awakened.
"I'm done reacting," she whispered. "Now... I hunt."
Kael came to her side. "We go together."
---
They burned the Wyrmkin camp to ashes. No prisoners. No second chances.
Later that night, after the fire, the pack gathered for a memorial. Lyra played a soft tune on her bone flute. Nyla shared tales of Darius's bravery. Even stoic Kael offered a rare story—of how Darius once stood alone between a death horde and a group of orphans, unflinching.
But Aria didn't speak. She sat alone, watching the flames.
That night, she dreamt again of the temple—but this time, she walked deeper.
At its center was a silver door, locked with flame.
A voice said, "Only when the moon bleeds and fire bows to ice shall the door open."
She woke with a start, knowing her journey was far from over.
The past had returned. But the future demanded fire.
To be continued...